"DEAR SIR,--I trust you will pardon this intrusion. It is a long time
since I have had the honor of writing to you; but I thought you would
wish to know that Miss Wayne will be in New York, for the first time,
within a day or two after you receive this letter. She is with her aunt,
Mrs. Dinks, who will stay at Bunker's.

"Respectfully yours,

"JANE SIMCOE."

Lawrence Newt's head drooped as he sat. Presently he arose and walked up
and down the office.

Meanwhile Gabriel was installed. That ceremony consisted of offering him
a high stool with a leathern seat. Mr. Tray remarked that he should have
a drawer in the high desk, on both sides of which the clerks were seated.
The installation was completed by Mr. Tray's formally introducing the
new-comer to the older clerks.

The scratching began again. Gabriel looked curiously upon the work in
which he was now to share. The young men had no words for him. Mr. Newt
was engaged within. The boy had a vague feeling that he must shift for
himself--that every body was busy--that play in this life had ended and
work begun. The thought tasted to him much more like smelts than cake.
And while he was wisely left by Thomas Tray to familiarize himself with
the entire novelty of the situation his mind flashed back to Delafield
with an aching longing, and the boy would willingly have put his face in
his hands and wept. But he sat quietly looking at his companions--until
Mr. Tray said,

"Gabriel, I want you to copy this invoice."

And Gabriel was a school-boy no longer.

CHAPTER XVI.

PHILOSOPHY.

Abel Newt believed in his lucky star. He had managed Uncle
Savory--couldn't he manage the world?

"My son," said Mr. Boniface Newt, "you are now about to begin the
world." (Begin? thought Abel.) "You are now coming into my house as
a merchant. In this world we must do the best we can. It is a great
pity that men are not considerate, and all that. But they are not. They
are selfish. You must take them as you find them. _You_, my son, think
they are all honest and good."--Do I? quoth son, in his soul.--"It is
the bitter task of experience to undeceive youth from its romantic
dreams. As a rule, Abel, men are rascals; that is to say, they pursue
their own interests. How sad! True; how sad! Where was I? Oh! men are
scamps--with some exceptions; but you must go by the rule. Life is a
scrub-race--melancholy, Abel, but true. I talk plainly to you, but I
do it for your good. If we wer